


jealousy

by limerental



Series: Witcher Ficletvember 2020 [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: As she slips into the bath, just this side of too hot, the first chords of lute music begin to float up from the main hall. She closes her eyes to listen, trying to remember her music lessons from eons ago. She had never been any good at it, clumsy in playing and in reading notes, but the Witcher’s bard allows the melody to flow as freely as water, effortless.Ficletvember Day 11 - prompt: who is he to you?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Ficletvember 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012020
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	jealousy

Three months after being ousted from Rinde, she is traveling north on a stolen horse, looking to find somewhere to shelter through the winter (perhaps a wealthy family requires a governess or an alchemist who can be charmed into allowing her the use of his laboratory; she’s not picky), when she hears word of a Witcher in town with his own pet bard in tow. Due to perform this evening at the Quaking Lamb, missy, if you fancy singin’ with your grub.

What a horrible coincidence. Yennefer doesn’t expect there are many other Witchers who travel with musical accompaniment.

She books a room at the Quaking Lamb, muttering a few choice phrases to convince the innkeep that her pitiful mound of coins is enough for a bath and meal as well. She helps Gertrude the serving girl bring up the cold water one bucket at a time, beckoning her close when the bath is full to allow the buck-toothed girl to look on in awe as a sweep of Yennefer’s hand brings the water to a steaming simmer.

This is what her magic has been reduced to. Parlor tricks for gawking serving girls. There’s not much else left to her, not in the shadow of the Brotherhood. The stink she made in Rinde means she must stay quieter than ever, slinking through the world like a fucking field mouse.

As she slips into the bath, just this side of too hot, the first chords of lute music begin to float up from the main hall. She closes her eyes to listen, trying to remember her music lessons from eons ago. She had never been any good at it, clumsy in playing and in reading notes, but the Witcher’s bard allows the melody to flow as freely as water, effortless.

She does not understand it. What is a man of his clear talent doing playing in hole in the wall taverns such as this one? Why stay with the Witcher, stomping through the wilderness and earning slop? 

Yennefer knows why, of course. The bard’s mind had splayed open for her like the pages of a book on the day she lost the djinn. 

She knows why he stays.

When her body is clean and dried, she goes to find the Witcher. He is not hard to find, huddled in the back of the hall with a stein and a hard lump of bread to chew on.

His eyes light up when he sees her. 

Isn’t that cute, she thinks and slips onto the stool across from him.

“I have a room,” says Yennefer, in lieu of greeting.

“So do I,” says the Witcher.

“Shared with him I suppose.”

She gestures at the flamboyant man crooning a sweet song on one knee to the blushing Gertrude.

Geralt shrugs.

They find their way to her room and make quick work of a rushed but athletic fuck. Afterward, they lie together, listening to the music filtering in from down the hall.

“Your bard,” Yennefer asks. “What’s his story? Why does he stay with you?”

“Beats me,” says Geralt. “But you’ve heard the songs. They’ve made him famous.”

“And you.”

“They’ve made the White Wolf famous. I’m not him.”

“Then who are you?”

Geralt laughs, quick and bitter.

"Getting philosophical now are we?”

“Well,” says Yennefer. “I must have mistook you for a man worth having a conversation with, but I see the truth of it now.”

She rolls against him, and again, they make a fleeting but thorough go of it.

When he is drooling against the rough linens, she extracts herself from his arms and straightens her clothing. Music still drifts on the air, a warm chatter of laughter, the scent of fresh meat roasting on a spit.

Again, she will steal away into the night, and the bard will stumble in when the night is through to lay beside the Witcher.

She wills herself not to feel anything like jealousy, not for anyone as simple as the foolish jester who tags doggedly after the Witcher. 

But the truth is this: she woke alone on the floor of that manor house, and the fool rode on beside him. Come morning, he will wake beside the Witcher and go on down the road, a simple habit, easy as breathing.

Yennefer wills herself not to feel anything at all.


End file.
